"Something like this should only be enjoyed by yourself? What a joke. You selfish bastard."
Wade's fingers hovered over the Available Monsters menu, itching to send a Crucible Knight to flatten that idiot.
Everyone had greed—he understood that much.
But this guy?
From the past few days of observation, Stella had seemed decent. After meeting her in person, his impression had improved even further. That was why he'd decided to hold back, for now.
"You want to keep this all to yourself?" Ellie's tone was cool, but her brows furrowed.
"Don't you think this is a godsend, Ellie?" Dany's voice was trembling with excitement, his eyes practically glowing. "You and I have been stuck at Bronze rank for years. Do you know why? Because we're too weak to complete the promotion tasks! But with this bonfire… Gold rank might finally be possible!"
His words spilled out faster, old humiliations bubbling to the surface.
"The only reason Stella even lets you stay on the team is because she pities you. She and Gibbs can handle commissions meant for five or six people. Why would they ever need you?"
A bitter laugh escaped him as he mocked himself.
"Tch. You're nothing but dead weight in a Silver-ranked team. Can't even complete your own promotion task? You were never cut out to be an adventurer. You run fast, right? Maybe try being a porter."
The bitterness burned his chest raw. With a sudden, frustrated snarl, he ripped his dagger from its sheath, ready to storm back into the dungeon and grind out monsters for XP.
"Dany!"
Stella's voice cracked like a whip. Her hand clamped down on his shoulder, forcing him still.
"Are you serious? Do you honestly think the four of us can monopolize a bonfire?"
Gibbs spoke up, his deep voice calm but firm:
"Anyone can explore the dungeon. This place is on the main path. Sooner or later, someone else will find it. We just happened to get lucky and arrive first."
"That's right," Ellie added, adjusting her glasses. "And think about it—Stella said that Maldron gentleman who helped her surely knew about this already. Who's to say others don't?"
Dany froze. His dagger trembled in his grip before lowering slowly. His face was a storm of rage and despair.
"Then… then I'll report it to the lord and have him lock the place down!"
SMACK!
The sharp sound cut through the air as Stella's palm struck his cheek, leaving him wide-eyed in shock.
"Good!" Wade muttered from his unseen vantage point, giving her a big thumbs-up. Outstanding move, otherworlder!
"Are you insane?" Stella's voice was a blade. Her eyes locked on his, blazing with fury.
"Have you even thought about what would happen next? The Count won't just stop other people. He'll arrest you—and probably all of us! Do you really think nobles are generous enough to forbid others entry while letting you stroll in freely?"
"Ah…"
Dany's mouth opened and closed, his gaze clearing as despair hollowed out his earlier fire.
"Then what do we do…? The lord will learn about the bonfire sooner or later from other adventurers. If he sends soldiers to guard it—"
"Dany, Dany…" Stella leaned in, jabbing her finger against his forehead like a teacher scolding the dumbest student in class.
"Think carefully. What's the one thing you're most proud of?"
"My… forehead?" he muttered blankly.
"It's your damn connections!"
She looked two seconds away from slapping him again.
"Don't forget your class—Shadow Walker! Every Shadow Walker is part of the Shadow Brotherhood. They're the best gossipers in the world!"
"How can you call the glorious Brotherhood a gossip—"
"Shut. Up."
"…Oh." Dany shrank back, chastened.
The Shadow Brotherhood wasn't an assassin guild, despite its ominous name.
It was a paparazzi syndicate.
Members worshipped the goddess Delight in Shadows, thriving on digging up the juiciest scandals. Royals' depraved lifestyles? Check. Legendary archmage who once sold his body in youth? Check. That high bishop of the Holy Light Church being heterosexual and not into little boys? Double check.
Major newspapers funded them handsomely for every explosive story. Naturally, Shadow Walkers like Dany delivered news whenever possible.
Though he'd never landed a major scoop himself, Dany's web of connections ran surprisingly deep—deep enough to reach the Brotherhood's higher-ups.
"The only way to counter the lord," Stella said, voice sharp as steel, "Is to spread the word everywhere! Let the whole land know about the bonfire! Then the Count or The Nobles won't dare block the dungeon—unless they wants a revolt on they're hands."
Clap clap clap.
Wade applauded wildly from his throne in the shadows. Magnificent. Absolutely magnificent.
He had no clue what this so-called Shadow Brotherhood was, but Stella's heroic posture was something to behold.
He'd already considered the possibility of the local lord sealing the dungeon for selfish gain. That was the one outcome he couldn't allow.
Good thing he had a contingency plan.
"They reminded me… nobles in the feudal era are famously greedy. Looks like I'll have to accelerate the timetable."
As the dungeon bells began their slow, somber toll, Wade pressed his palm against the cold stone altar and whispered:
"Jack. Come to me. Now."
(***)
Bedford City – Lamb & Corn Ale Tavern
Laughter thundered through the tavern, mingling with music and the sweet tang of spilled ale. Several wealthy patrons had bought rounds for the entire house, and the air swirled with alcohol, sweat, and a hint of perfume. A mage set off fireworks for fun, casting sparks of violet and gold across the smoke-stained ceiling, while jugglers tossed bright balls through the rowdy crowd.
At the head table, Jack sat like a king in his shabby throne. One beautiful girl perched on each knee, while another hovered behind him, popping grapes into his mouth. His grin stretched wide, drinking in the envy darting his way.
Tonight, Jack was living his dream.
"Come, Master Jack, a toast to you!" boomed a fat man dripping in gold chains and rings—Sir Arthur, one of tonight's biggest spenders. "Thanks to you, I had the time of my life in that dungeon! When I return home, I'll recommend you to all my friends."
"Ah, Sir Arthur, you flatter me," Jack said, bowing his balding head with exaggerated humility. "Even without me, you'd have managed splendidly."
"Impossible!" Arthur waved the thought away. "Without you, I'd be dead in that swamp. You knew every pit and hazard like the back of your hand—saved me more than once. You truly deserve the title of Master Guide!"
Jack chuckled, savoring every drop of praise.
Just a few weeks ago, his life had been hell. His pursuer Kezman was breathing down his neck—until the bastard got arrested and sentenced to centuries in prison. With that fear gone, Jack thought life might calm down.
But reality hit hard. He was still on the city guard's watchlist. Black market deals? Dead. Adventurers he'd swindled? They came knocking with knives out.
That was when his master—Wade—gave him a lifeline.
Become a dungeon tour guide. Specialize in leading groups safely through the swamp.
Jack had cursed the idea at first. But he had no choice—and, as it turned out, his memory was sharp as a steel trap. He recalled every pitfall, every ambush point.
At first, no one believed in the shriveled old man.
But after a few successful runs with zero casualties, word spread like wildfire. He went from "that old conman" to "Sir Jack." Soon, even the rich were lining up for his services.
Arthur was one of them—a merchant with gold to burn and a thirst for adventure. Hearing of Jack's reputation, he paid for a thrilling yet safe dungeon tour. The man had left ecstatic, and now here they were, drinking like kings.
Other guides tried copying Jack's routes. They failed—falling into sudden traps or unexpected monster spawns. Jack's clients, meanwhile, always walked out smiling.
Not because a certain dungeon lord was tweaking the spawn table for him or anything. Definitely not.
Jack's fame soared. For the first time in years, he felt alive. Wade was no longer just a looming threat—he was a god to be worshipped.
"Drink, everyone! Drink until the sun comes up!" Jack roared, raising his glass.
And then—
A voice slid like a knife into his mind.
His grin froze.